Mor’s familiar wears a shiny blue bow tie and an expectant expression.
“Charm is coming with us?”
She shrugs. “I’m not about to stop him.”
Mor finally settled on a name for her familiar when the creature fell asleep on a book of charms. The chunky critter fully engulfed the book, and Mor didn’t even realize it was underneath him until she picked the raccoon up.
All of the Shellys and their mates pile into a limo Anthony booked us for just this purpose. I battle the urge to pull Mor close into my side because I don’t want to muss her pretty dress.
When we arrive at the location of the Halloween Ball, there’s a crowd of other cars parked in the field and a host of mythics in formalwear, making their way down a candlelit path toward a lakeside pavilion.
When we enter the space, I’m briefly mesmerized—and slightly creeped out—by the golden spiders spinning metallic spiderwebs above our heads. All part of the decorations, Mor assures me.
Lanterns float among the glittering strands, and fog swirls around our feet, matching the curls of smoke that drift from the tops of drinks on floating trays.
The night is pure magic.
“Bo,” a musical voice says to my right, and I turn to find the second to last person I want to talk to.
Sev is the first, but luckily I haven’t caught sight of him.
“Georgiana,” I greet in response, resting my hand on top of Mor’s when I feel my witch’s fingers dig into my forearm. I really don’t want the woman I love to get in trouble for punching a tit on such a beautiful night.
Georgiana wears a long white gown that is weirdly like a wedding dress. It has me wondering where her husband has wandered off to. Wouldn’t mind seeing Dr. Stormwind and thanking him for the glasses.
The siren’s smile is tight, her eyes pleading. “I wanted to apologize. For my behavior toward you.”
Mor sometimes refers to herself as a bitch witch, and I wonder if maybe a bit of her snark might be rubbing off on me. Because instead of quietly accepting the crumbs Georgiana is offering, I meet her eyes and give her back all the hurt she laid on me.
“Which time? When you used to fuck me in secret and never acknowledged me in public? Or when you stole something and abandoned me when I tried to help you? Or when I was finally free and knew no one but you, and you left me again?” I’m on a roll now and the woman from my past gapes like she’s never seen me before. “Wait, no, you’re probably apologizing for kissing me when you’re married, and I didn’t consent. Is it that one?”
Despite my scathing words, I’m truly curious which one of the many ways she hurt me Georgiana finally deemed bad enough to deserve an apology.
But I’ve stunned her silent.
So, my witch picks up the conversation. “Georgiana, you’re going to leave Bo alone, or I will make it my mission to visit everyOf the Wing constituent and let them know exactly what you’ve done to my mate.”
Warmth floods my body at that last word. We haven’t gone through an official ceremony yet, but there’s so much surety in Mor’s voice I have no trouble believing we will.
This finally cracks through the siren’s stupefaction. “You live in Of the Wing territory bymyleave.”
Mor steps in front of me, towering over the smaller woman. “Try to pry me out of that house and see what happens. That is my home and my roots run deeper than a bird like you could understand.”
There’s chittering that sounds like agreement, and we glance down to find Charm, paws orange with a substance that looks like pumpkin pie filling, is leaving colorful prints all over the bottom of Georgiana’s dress. The siren lets out and unattractive shriek, yanks her skirts away from the familiar, and stalks off through the crowd, multiple heads turning to watch her go.
The raccoon stares up at us with innocent eyes, and I bark out a laugh. “Thanks, Charm.”
He babbles something only he can understand then waddles back toward the food table.
“You okay?” My witch asks, eyes creased in concern.
I lift her hand and press a kiss to the back. “With you defending my honor? Always.”
Mor smiles, small at first, then wide and bright. “How do you feel about dancing?” Her gaze flicking between me and the dance floor.
“I doubt I’m any good, so you might need to be the one to lead,” I admit.
In another lifetime, knowing my feet would fumble and struggle to find a rhythm would have kept me far from the couples swaying to the beat. But I’m done living my life based on fear and shame.
